


Downpour

by TrashFan



Category: Internet Personalities, Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Gang Rape, Heavy Angst, M/M, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-01-20 11:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12431406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashFan/pseuds/TrashFan
Summary: When Dan is violated in the worst way possible, there are a torrent of questions to work through. Will Phil figure out what's plaguing his boyfriend? Will Dan find his voice again? Will the culprits ever be brought to justice?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually inspired by two works: Get Out Your Damn Umbrellas by llamalamp and the work THAT was inspired by, When It Rain It Pours by wordsongs. I was sparked by one of llamalamp's line, "It’s over, he told himself as the air stung his throat. They’re going to leave soon. They’ve gotten what they wanted. It's over." In their work, this isn't true. I wondered what would happen if it was true and Phil had to find out himself.
> 
> Please read both of the other works, they're fantastic. READ TAGS FOR TRIGGER WARNINGS.

“Do I have to go?”

“For the last time Phil, yes you have to go.”

“But it's boring and I'm going to hate every second of it.”

Dan rolled his eyes as he reached out to tuck a bit of hair behind his boyfriend's ear. “It'll be fun, you'll see all kinds of family and friends you've not seen in a while.”

“And that's the problem!” the older man sighed. “I'm going to have to make small talk until my brain shrivels up and I _die._ What's the point of renewing vows anyway? They already got married, why do they have to do it a second time?”

“Because your parents are so in love it's almost gross. One wedding isn't enough to portray that I guess.”

Phil let his dufflebag slide of his shoulder and slump to their apartment floor before he wrapped his arms around Dan's waist. “Hmm, the Lesters are just romantic like that.”

Dan cocked his eyebrows. “How is it that your father can get someone to agree to marry him twice and I can't even do it once?”

Phil huffed in mock-offense and pursed his lips. “Because. He doesn't have the world's most complicated public perceptions of his personal relationships. And you know –”

“Yeah yeah, you'll marry me someday and we're as good as husbands already, I know the speech.” Dan give him a peck on the forehead. “I'm just giving you a hard time. You ready to go?”

Phil tightened his hold on the man. “No. One more minute.”

“We'll be late for your train,” Dan mumbled feebly, hating himself for being the reasonable one.

“Mmm, two more minutes.”

Dan opened his mouth to force himself to object again, but he was cut off by a kiss that sent shivers down his spine even after the better part of a decade.

Who needed to be right on time anyway? They could just tell their taxi driver to speed.

 

 

Dan suppressed a grin at the coffee spill that was still on the pavement as he emerged from his cab. The men had spent a few too many minutes saying goodbye in their flat and had to go at mach 5 to get to the station in time. As they were clambering to get into the taxi, both had dropped their extremely full coffees, resulting in a waterfall of burning hot liquid down the leg of Dan's jeans, pooling in his socks and in a dip in the pavement. They'd spent so long in the apartment they'd barely had a chance to shout “bye” in the station, and Dan felt a little bad for that, especially since he should have been traveling with Phil. They had originally RSVP'd that they'd be going together but the week leading into the vow renewal had been bad for Dan. His energy was almost nonexistent and he could feel the beginnings of thought spirals threatening to push him into the pit. The entire Lester family, the angels that they were, had been completely understanding when he'd decided to cancel. Phil had even offered to stay home with him, but Dan refused. As much as his boyfriend joked about dreading the small talk, Dan knew he was really looking forward to seeing his family. And besides, they'd only be apart for three days.

Dan pushed those thoughts away as he climbed the steps to their home. As he reached eye-level with the bottom of the door, he rolled his eyes; in their hurry they must've left the lights on inside. That eye roll turned into an exasperated sigh when he discovered the door was unlocked as well. They had to stop being this careless.

Dan slipped inside, shut the door behind him, and pulled his phone out to send a text mocking Phil for their lateness. He sent the message and then began tugging his pants off, wincing at the sticky coffee residue still on his leg. The trousers were to his knees when his phone pinged with Phil's response: _As I recall, I wasn't the only one enjoying our goodbyes._ Dan laughed aloud and moved his hands up to reply, but his fingers would never make it to the screen.

“Don't stop stripping on our account,” came a rough voice.

Dan's body froze. He waited. He waited for another voice to call something from the street, he waited to be shown that this was all being heard through a window he left open and _that nobody was in his home that this wasn't what it sounded like that this wasn't what it felt like._

“Actually, on second thought, it is a good idea to put that away,” and suddenly Dan's mobile was being ripped out of his hand before he could so much as move. He snapped his head up, and the sight that greeted him knocked the wind out of his lungs.

In his kitchen were standing four men, all with their hungry eyes trained on Dan. The one who'd snatched his phone out of his grasp was standing closest to him. He was the shortest of the group, but he held his head high, a mocking superiority behind his glare. The next closest to him was almost a caricature of a beanpole computer nerd who lived in his basement, all the way down to his stringy black hair. Then there was the dirty-blonde bloke with a ripped physique that radiated frat house vibes. The man farthest from Dan was easily the least physically intimidating; maybe 5'7” at most, husky and a little squat. But what he brandished in his hand made Dan's whole body go cold with fear. Dan had never looked down the barrel of a gun before, and a small, detached part of him noted that it looked exactly as it did in old Looney Toons shorts. He somehow doubted that this one fired little notes that read “bang.”

Shorty threw the mobile to the ground and stomped on it, crushing it again and again under his boot. When it was in three separate pieces, he looked up with a sadistic smile. Dan tried to swallow.

“Take whatever you w-w-want. My wallet, the tellie, please. Just don't hurt me. I won't fight you.”

Frat Boy took a step forward, his eyes glimmering. “But what if I want a little fight?”

Dan was about to ask what he meant by that before a realization struck him. But no. It couldn't be, things like that didn't happen. Not to him, not now. Despite every inch of his body trembling violently, Dan fought to find his voice.

“You can't do this. My housemate will be back in fifteen minutes, and then –”

“Phil's on a train speeding away from you,” said the Techie. “Don't even try to lie to us.”

“Yes Daniel, we know everything. One more lie, and you'll have to be punished. Not that that wouldn't be fun,” Chubby added with a smirk.

No. This wasn't really happening. This was a nightmare that he would wake up from any minute, curled up save and warm in Phil's arms. No one had broken into his house, there wasn't a gun pointed at him, and he wasn't about to be –

“I believe you were in the middle of taking off your pants,” the Short One growled. “Go ahead and finish with that.”

Dan tried to speak, but nothing came out.

“Now, bitch!”

So Dan leaned over and tugged his jeans the rest off the way off. What was his other choice? Make a wrong move and there'd be a hole in his head. But then again, he wasn't so sure that was the worst of the options laid before him.

“Now down on your knees.”

“P-p-please,” he whispered. “Please don't. If you just leave now, I'll never say a word about this. I won't tell anyone t –” a swift slap across his face cut him off and left his ear ringing.

“I _said,_ ” Short One snarled, “on your knees. Bitch. And shut up.”

Dan sunk slowly to his knees as he felt the first tears begin to roll down his face. He tried not to look as the leader undid his own belt buckle, tried not to see what was about to happen to him. But suddenly it was all too close and all too real and he could smell body odour and bad cologne so strongly he thought he might pass out.

“Open up.”

Dan shook his head, lips sealed shut. No. No, this wasn't going to happen. He was going to fight, he wouldn't be forced to touch any of these men. As he was deciding whether it was worth risking opening his mouth to say something, he felt strong hands close around his throat and squeeze. Dan grabbed at them and tried to claw them away, but nothing he did stopped the enormous amount of pressure pushing down on him. Everything was burning and he tried again and again to suck in air without managing to get anything. The edges of his vision were just beginning to go fuzzy when he finally felt a release. He coughed, spluttering loudly and trying to remain his breath. But before he got a chance, he felt a hand tugging on his hair and the intrusion he had been fighting so desperately against.

And then it was like he wasn't there at all. He wasn't actually Dan, crying on his knees as he was violated by a stranger. He didn't hear the insults being slung at them. He didn't feel the rough hands of all four men stroking his body as Shorty hurt him again and again and again, he didn't taste blood and foul skin in his throat, and he certainly didn't shudder away from hands closing around his mouth after the bastard had finished, holding his jaw shut and forcing him to swallow the sickening substance in order to breathe. No, Dan wasn't actually there on the ground as the four men groped his body and assaulted his mouth. He was just a distant observer, vaguely aware of how cruel and wrong all of this was.

It wasn't until the men had all had their way, threatened him, and filed out of the apartment that Dan came back to his body. He returned to the ground just in time to keel over and vomit on his discarded jeans, ridding his stomach of the repulsive mess they'd made him swallow. He was back on the ground, but he wasn't there yet. He didn't taste, didn't see, didn't feel. Dan simply curled into a ball on his side and finally, _finally_ passed out.

 


	2. Chapter 2

When Dan started slowly returning to consciousness, he curled in on himself and tried to fight his way back into sleep. Everything hurt and he felt as though his entire body was quaking. He took breaths in short little bursts as he attempted to push down all the thoughts and memories that were threatening to boil over into a hysteria. He was sick, that was all. His burning throat and nausea were just parts of some kind of flu. He'd been so ill he must've scared himself into a fever dream about intruders. That was all that was happening. Nothing was real. Everything was fine.

Dan tried to make himself believe that. He squeezed his eyes shut, hugged his knees, and repeated his rationalizations over and over to himself. When he still felt phantom hands trailing over his body, he decided to switch to saying them out loud. A shooting pain erupted from his throat as he tried to speak and stopped him, shocking him into opening his eyes. What he saw made him sorely miss unconsciousness. There across the room were the shards of his phone, a discarded condom wrapper, and his pants. But why were his pants covered in blood? Panic began to rise in Dan's chest at the thoughts of what the men might have done to him while he was asleep. He pushed himself weakly to a sitting position and felt his head spin from the effort. He steeled himself and took a second look at his trousers and almost cried out with relief. There was an inconsistency in texture and it was different colors in different spots; it was just his vomit. The relief was immediately replaced with a flood of fear. He had thrown up blood. How bad was that? If he was still trying to cling to his “it was all a fever dream” theory, then it was probably a sign that he was dying. But if it had all been real, then it could be some injurt. Dan was surprised when he realized dying might be the better of the two options.

He knew what had really happened. Of course he knew. But he couldn't actually think about it, he couldn't let it really settle in, and sitting there like that was giving himself way too much time to think. First thing first was water. Now that he was cognizant of the fire in his throat, he couldn't believe how he hadn't noticed it immediately. As he stepped over the wreckage, refusing to look at it or acknowledge it, he registered that it was the kind of bright outside that only comes with a sunrise. Had he really been passed out for twelve hours? Why wasn't he desperate for the toilet then? As he shifted he got an answer to that question, realizing he'd soiled himself. If he had the energy to care he might have been embarrassed. He chugged an overfilled glass of water, ignoring the searing pain and metallic taste of blood. A small stream spilled down Dan's chin and soaked his shirt, making it cling to his skin. A thought crossed his mind. If he'd only been asleep for half a day and he'd soiled himself in that time, why were his shorts almost dry already?

He started looking for his phone out of habit, but when he remembered with a cringe, he pulled out his laptop instead. Sunday. Holy shit, he'd slept for over thirty-six hours, and Phil was due home in only four more. Dan did the best version of a deep breath he could manage while only using his nose. Four hours was plenty of time, it would be fine. He needed to focus on getting things done one by one. First on the list was definitely a shower. Then brushing the vomit-and-blood taste out of his mouth, then fresh clothes. Then cleaning the living room and getting everything looking normal. Then thinking of an excuse for why his cell was shattered like that. He was conscious that after almost two days, eating should be somewhere on his list, but he knew he wouldn't be able to handle it.

Dan just needed to keep moving, get things done, _and not think about anything._

 

 

 

Dan had just sat down and opened his laptop to try to look as normal as possible when he heard the keys jingle at the door. In theory he hadn't had a lot of things to get done before Phil's return, but he hadn't accounted for the shower taking an hour and a half because he needed to mentally prepare himself every time he touched his body. Or that he would panic about vomit clogging washing machines and Phil noticing if he put the jeans in the bin, so he'd had to panic for twenty minutes before finally deciding to shove them in a trash bag, toss it under the bed in what the internet knew as “Dan's” room, and douse it with air freshener. Or that he would need to take six separate breaks to stop himself from hyperventilating.

As the door opened, he reminded himself once again to breathe. It was just Phil coming back. It was his boyfriend, not four strange men come to –

“Hello? Dan, 'you home?”

Dan opened his mouth to reply, but he was instantly reminded of the searing pain. He thought for a second before knocking his knuckles on the wall next to “Phil's” bed, where he had set himself up. In a few seconds, Phil entered the room dragging his suitcase behind him.

“Are you okay? Why haven't you answered my calls or texts all weekend? You had me worried sick.”

Dan didn't even try to talk this time. He pulled up Word on his laptop, typed out a quick reply, and motioned his boyfriend over.

 _I dropped my phone out the second story window. I don't wanna talk about it._ He forced a smile.

Phil sunk down on the bed next to him, brow furrowed at the screen. “Why are you typing?”

_I've been really really ill, it hurts too much to talk._

“Oh.” he paused. “You couldn't have sent me a message to tell me about your phone? I almost came home early four times. One message, one email, something would have been nice you know.”

Dan bit his lip. _I was sleeping a lot, I didn't even think about it._

“You didn't even think about it. Thanks a lot Dan, that's exactly what I wanted to hear,” Phil spat, his jaw jutting out.

Dan blinked. It'd been a while since he'd seen his boyfriend this upset without a fight leading into it. _I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. I should have sent something, you're right,_ He typed after a moment of thought.

Phil took a slow breath. “With your anxiety this week and canceling coming with me, I was scared that...” he shook his head. “I'm not sure. I was scared. Don't ever do that to me again, okay? I don't know what I would do.”

Dan ran a hand through his hair and tried to calm his shaking frame. _I know. I'm sorry._

“Okay, okay. So what kind of sick are you? How long have you been ill?”

He thought for a moment. _I got sick right when I got home from taking you to the station. I'm just tired, and my throat hurts, and I'm nauseous. It's fine._

“My poor baby.”

Dan saw an arm coming towards him and suddenly it was _their arms,_ it was _their bodies_ next to him and he reacted without thinking. He threw his hands up in defense and ducked his head, making a sound he hadn't known humans were capable of. Between panicked pants he became vaguely aware of Phil's wide eyes and dropped jaw, and Dan realized what he'd done. He winced.

 _Sorry. I just dnt want you to fet sivk too,_ he mistyped with shaking hands.

“Are you sure you're okay?

_Yes_

“Okay. Are you um,” Phil scrunched his eyebrows, “are you sure nothing else is going on? Is this a depression thing I don't understand? If it is you don't have to talk about it, I'm just –”

Dan held up a hand to stop him. _I'm fine. Can you just get me some water please?_

It wasn't until Phil left the room that Dan could breath again. He wasn't sure how much longer he could do this. Maybe he could claim he was visiting his parents and disappear to a spa while he figured out how the hell to function. If things were different he might've laughed at the notion that running away to some anonymous resort was an option he was really considering, but that's the way this weekend was going. If he'd just –

_**CRASH.** _

Dan was out of bed and jogging towards the sound before he knew what he was doing. They were back and they were going to hurt Phil, he was sure of it. He had to get there and stop it before Phil wound up like him.

He burst into the kitchen to see his boyfriend standing in the center of a circle of broken glass, the base of the water cup still mostly intact at his feet. Phil was standing stock-still, staring at something on the floor Dan couldn't see. If he'd been able to talk, he would have asked what the hell happened.

“Dan?” Phil said, voice hard and shaking.

Dan hummed in response.

“What the fuck is this?”

He bent down, picked something up, and held it to the light. Dan squinted. It was the open condom wrapper he'd noticed that morning. He didn't know how the hell he'd missed it when he'd cleaned up.

Phil whirled to face him, mouth upturned in a snarl. “I asked, What. The. Fuck. Is. _This._ ”

Dan leaned forward and vomited a spray of blood.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Screw you, Daniel James Howell. Screw you,” Phil sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair. He leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees and face in his hands. “I'm supposed to have months to be mad. I should get to scream and slam doors and yell questions and be in the right yet be incredibly immature. But instead you put things into perspective immediately.” He took a long breath and rubbed at his eyes. “You really scared me, you know that? Spitting blood like that and fainting. You're still scaring the hell out of me. The nurses are saying that they can't tell me more about your condition until you're awake, because it isn't life threatening and I don't have spousal privileges. They keep saying that you'll be fine, but they won't explain anything else to me.”

Phil shook his head and gently rested his hand on top of his boyfriend's. He felt absolutely ridiculous talking like this, but it seemed to be the only thing keeping him sane. Before he started he had been pacing frantically. But he wanted to be right be Dan's bedside when he woke up. So that meant sitting here, talking to someone who couldn't hear him, trying desperately to keep it together.

“The worst part is that it's been over an hour and a half and no one has come for us. Apparently there's been a four car wreck, so A and E sort of has their hands full. If no one has taken the time to check in on you, that must mean it's not urgent, right? That this is some crazy accident that doesn't mean anything serious? I need it to be nothing serious.” He bit his lip. “You know, maybe once you wake up and everything's fine, I'll go back to being mad at you. I mean, cheating after eight years...Jesus. But you have to wake up, okay? Even if you wake up just to roll over and tell me you're leaving me, you need to be okay. I'd rather you cheat a thousand times than be...” he swallowed thickly. “Than not wake up. No matter what happens from here on, I'll be with you as long as you'll have me. The second you hit the floor, I knew I'd stick it out. Because I can't handle being without you. Especially not like this. No matter how bad it gets Dan, I'll be with you as long as I can.”

Phil coughed and shook himself. Christ, he had turned into a bad Nicolas Sparks novel. Despite what the public might think, he had never been the gushy one. But there was something about watching the love of your life spout blood that changed your norms. Talking to Dan like that had helped, but he knew he couldn't continue with the lump blocking his throat. He just sat there, gripping his boyfriend's hand and rocking for five minutes. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. He was just starting to think that the staff had forgotten about them when in the thirty-seventh minute of silence, a stout, brunette doctor knocked softly.

“Uh, come in.”

“Hello, I'm Dr. Alvarez,” she said softly.

“Phillip Lester. I'm his boyfriend.” God, he hated that term. It made them sound like teenagers. “I'm his partner.”

“Has Mr. Howell regained consciousness yet?”

Phil was about to say no when Dan's eyes fluttered open. He gasped. “H-hey there.”

“Mr. Howell, nice to meet you. I'm Dr. Alvarez. Do you remember what happened?”

He blinked heavily a few times before nodding his head minutely.

“Well, we were hoping you might be able to tell us if you were feeling any symptoms before the incident. Did you have a cough, had you been feeling ill, what was going on?”

Dan took a slow breath and gestured to his throat before shaking his head.

“You can't talk? We can go get you a paper and pen if you'd like,” asked the doctor.

But Phil was focusing on something else. How the _hell_ had he not noticed the bruising around Dan's collarbone until now? Dark puddles filled his bone dips and rose up his neck, streaking across and around. Bruises meant internal bleeding. A chill rolled down his spine and he griped Dan's hand tighter. After a moment, Dr. Alvarez returned with a notepad and pen, which she set on a rolling tray and pulled up to the bedside.

Dan lifted his arm, and with a heavily shaking hand scrawled out, _Promise?_

Both the doctor and Phil raised their eyebrows. “Erm, what do you mean Bear?”

Dan looked up into the other man's eyes. _You said no matter how bad it gets, you would stay by my side. Do you promise?_

“I didn't...I didn't know you were awake,” he swallowed. “But yes. Yes, I promise you.”

Dan's entire body began to shake and the pen looked in serious danger of springing loose from his grip. His next writing was so out of control, Phil could only read a handful of words through the mess. But it was enough.

_I..............broke in...............gun...............didn't want................my throat....................assault.........._

Dan paused for a long time before bringing the pen back to the page.

… _..............rape._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, there will be various sections with medical and law enforcement personnel. I'd just like to say that I don't have a good grip on how that works in the US (where I'm from) or Spain (where I live), so the UK is a bit of a stretch. But I'm trying my best, and let's all collectively ignore when I mess it up.
> 
> I would love your thoughts on this chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: from here on out in the chapter's told through Dan's perspective, the narrative is that of disordered thinking and victim blaming. It doesn't reflect what I actually believe, and it sure as hell doesn't reflect the reality of assault. I'm just trying to represent the mindset of a survivor.

Dan felt bad for brushing Phil aside. It was obvious that his boyfriend was trying his best to navigate through an impossible situation, and all things considered he wasn't doing a bad job. It was Dan who couldn't handle it. Ever since Phil found out he hadn't cheated after all, he'd been asking how he could help: did Dan want to be comforted or given space, should he break the news to the Howell family, on and on and on. Dan couldn't have engineered a better response if he'd tried, and it was infuriating. Phil was reacting so god damn well to their world being turned upside-down, all the while Dan couldn't even handle the basics.

As he walked into the bedroom, he let his ruck sack of personal items that'd been brought to him in hospital slide down his arm and onto the floor. He steeled himself before ducking down to look under the bed. He'd been told that investigators had taken the bin bag with the vomit-jeans as evidence, but Dan had to check. He had to know that all material objects involved in that day were gone. It all had to be gone.

He had no idea what to do with himself. In the three days since the break-in he had constantly been looking for his phone out of habit before the sick realization hit him yet again. He ran his hand through his hair and slid his shoes off carefully before climbing into bed, not bothering to lift the covers over himself. He had just intended to lie down for a moment, but he felt his knees pulling into his chest and his arms holding them there. The fetal position – god, could he be any more of a cliche?

“Dan, do you want company or do you want to be left alone?” his boyfriend's voice called out.

He unfolded one arm and rapped twice on the headboard.

“Okay. Tell me if you need anything, yeah?”

He knocked once more.

Dan's primary form of communication recently had been pen and notepad, but for simple questions the boys had worked out a system. Tap once for the first option, twice for the second, and so on. If there are no options, one tap means yes, two means no, three means unsure.

With that firmly in place, Dan hadn't spoken a single word since the attack ended. All tests that A&E ran showed that there'd be no permanent physical damage, but that didn't stop his throat from burning like hell whenever he so much as took a deep breath. And every time he thought about trying to talk, _their_ voices went off in his head again.

“ _Shut up, whore.”_

“ _That mouth should only be doing one thing baby, so stop shouting and get back to work.”_

“ _Ha! Listen to the little bitch, still trying to scream. Worthless.”_

“ _Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.”_

Dan snapped back to reality when he felt the first tear fall off onto the mattress. He couldn't do this, he couldn't lose it again. He'd almost lost it in the hospital, almost let go of control and told them everything. But he couldn't. He took a deep breath in and reminded himself of his new mantra: don't make things worse than they have to be. The expression on Phil's face when Dan first wrote what had happened almost tore him in two, and the second he saw it he vowed he'd never see it again.

So he did what any good boyfriend would do; he made it as easy as possible for Phil. All through the police statement, he calculated what answer would hurt Phil the least. So according to the investigators, no, the men hadn't done anything else to him. Yes, only one of the four violated him, the other three just watched. No, apart from the gun they did nothing to threaten him. No, of course he didn't recognize any of them. Of course he didn't get an icy feeling shooting down his spine at one of the mens' voices, as if he'd heard it a million times before, seen that face a million times before. And yes, Dan was fine.

In fact, Dan had distanced himself from the attack even as it was happening. He'd been an onlooker from above, the terrible things weren't actually happening to _his_ body. Maybe if he repeated the easy answers long enough, he'd start to believe them too. He needed to believe them too.

But then, in those first moments home from the hospital, he didn't try to believe anything, he didn't try to do anything, he didn't try to think anything. Dan just curled into himself on top of the covers and left it all behind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this chapter feels transitional to you, but I promise I have big things coming. I live for comments/reviews/critiques!

**Author's Note:**

> I love constructive criticism, so please comment and review. This is mainly a project to get me through my writer's block, but I still want it to be good. And if either of the original authors happen to read this, I would love to hear your thoughts (good or bad) on my adaptation.


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